Pursuit of Honor

chapter 2
NEW YORK CITY

GLEN Adams drained the last precious drop of Remy Martin from the bulbous snifter and immediately felt cheated that he wasn't going to get a second glass of the smooth, warm cognac. His dinner partner and former law school classmate, while brilliant, was also a bit of a bore, and had insisted on the tab. They'd graduated from NYU's School of Law twenty-six years earlier and since then they'd run into each other about once or twice a year, either at alumni events or at various professional functions. Every so often they'd grab lunch and catch up, but there was no doubt they had drifted apart. It was neither man's fault, of course. Between careers and family, there was little time left for old friendships.

The two men had chosen drastically different paths after law school. Urness scored a coveted job with the Public Defender's Office in New York City. After putting in three years of utter servitude, he bolted for the private sector and quickly earned a reputation as a fearsome trial attorney. By his midthirties he'd already argued two cases before the U.S. Supreme Court. At thirty-nine, he started his own law firm and quickly grew it into one of most well known and successful in a city filled with high-priced law firms.

Adams, while not nearly as successful, was proud of what he'd accomplished. Following in the footsteps of his father, he went to work for the CIA. His first two years, while enlightening, were worse than anything he could have imagined. Since childhood he'd dreamed of becoming a spook. Unfortunately, it didn't turn out to be anything even remotely close to what he thought it would be. Adams had grown up in the house of a father who had fought in World War II and then gone on to work for the CIA in its Special Activities Division. His dad was rarely around, and that left a lot of time for a young, impressionable boy to dream about unseen heroism and daring exploits. Even in his absence the man managed to cast his huge presence over the house and the aspirations of his only son.

In the real world Adams found the Directorate of Operations at Langley to be staffed by crude, rude, and dimwitted ex-military types, who were challenged to think of the world in any colors other than black and white. Having graduated from one of the world's top law schools, Adams found it unbearable to work around so many simpletons. After two years of service, and despite strong protest from his father, Adams left the CIA and went to work for the Justice Department. It was a decision that ended up causing irreparable damage to their relationship. It took the younger Adams years to come to grips with the rift it had caused, and in many ways this evening was a major step in putting the entire thing behind him.

Despite the problems it had caused with his father, Adams always felt he'd made the right decision in leaving the CIA. While at DOJ he'd tackled a series of increasingly tough jobs, and his career steadily advanced. Then 9/11 hit and everything changed. That first year or two after the attacks, Adams found himself caught up in the patriotic fervor just like everyone else. Eventually, though, he regained his senses and realized elements of his own government were every bit as big a threat as the terrorists. A vocal minority on the Hill had been screaming for increased oversight at the CIA, and before Adams knew it his name had been thrown into the hopper. His reputation as a tough federal prosecutor pleased the politicians, and his family history with Langley, and brief employment there, made him what many thought to be the perfect choice for inspector general of America 's premier spy agency.

Adams experienced a glimmer of hope that the new post would help mend the rift between him and his father. His dad, now in his eighties, didn't have many years in front of him, and Adams knew there wouldn't be many opportunities like this. He couldn't have been more misguided in his optimistic assessment. The afternoon that he told his father of the prodigal son's return ended up being the last time they spoke. Unknown to Adams was his father's deep-seated disdain for the office of the CIA's top watchdog. What was supposed to be a moment of healing ended up being a catastrophe that destroyed any hope of repairing their relationship. Four short months later the elder Adams passed away.

The surviving son took to his new job with ministerial zeal. Like a missionary converting the heathens to Christianity, Adams would bring a passion for justice and the rule of law to the wild and uncouth. And like the missionaries who had worked the backwaters of South America, Adams would use force if need be-conversion by the sword. He would use his considerable talents to usher in a new era at Langley. An era they could all be proud of.

At least that was what he had told himself at the time. What he'd told his wife and his law school classmates like Urness. His fellow alums had been a great source of strength. They saw the CIA for what it was: a rotten, outdated organization. If he had known then what he knew now, he wondered if he would have taken the job. Had he been too idealistic? No, he'd told himself on many occasions, they were just too corrupt. The Constitution and the rule of law were more important than a thousand careers. A million careers.

Adams gazed into his glass in hopes that there was a drop to be found in the little indentation at the bottom, but there wasn't. "All is not wasted," he mumbled to himself. Tonight was proof of that. His plan was good, better than good-it was perfect. None of them would expect it. Besides, they had their hands full at the moment, trying to figure out how they'd f*cked up and allowed nearly two hundred of their fellow citizens to get killed in broad daylight. They were nothing more than a bunch of goons, and these attacks were proof that their methods had served only to hearten the enemy.

"This is a big step," Urness said as he slid his black American Express card back in his wallet. "Are you sure you want to go through with it?"

"Come on, Kenny," Adams said to the other attorney, "I've never doubted your determination."

"I just want to make sure," Urness said with a toothy grin. "There's going to be some very powerful people who are going to be really pissed off."

"No doubt. Are you sure you're up to it?"

The attorney took a moment and then said, "I'm ready for a new challenge. A cause I can believe in. I've made a shitload of money. Now I'd like to make a difference."

With a raised brow, Adams said, "Like Woodward and Bernstein?"

"Yeah, except you'll be Deep Throat."

"Let's hope I don't have to wait until I'm ninety to admit my role in all of this."

"If I'm reading this right," Urness said, "and I usually do, I don't think you'll have to wait more than two years. I'll have it all gamed by then, and you'll be treated as a hero."

"By some."

Urness pushed his chair back and started to stand. "F*ck 'em..."

Adams laughed and stood, oblivious that his white dinner napkin had just slid from his lap to the floor.

"I'm serious. F*ck 'em. You're never going to get those fascists on the right to understand what we're doing, so I'm telling you right now f*ck 'em and forget 'em."

"You're right," Adams said with an impish grin. As Urness came around the table Adams put his arm around him. He was almost a head taller than his friend. "You're a good shit, Kenny. I really appreciate this."

"I'm more than happy to help, Glen. These are strange times. If we don't take a stand, I'm afraid what kind of country will be left for our kids."

The two men moved from the restaurant into the bar and toward the front door. Adams looked at the booze behind the bar, and like one of Pavlov's dogs, began to salivate. He slowed his pace and rubbed his right hand over his belly. "What do you say we have one more bump before we call it a night?"

Urness abruptly stopped, looked up at his friend with a seriousness that he usually saved for his clients, and blurted out, "I think you drink too much."

Adams looked away nervously and chuckled. "Come on, Kenny," he said with forced levity, "a guy's in New York for the night. What's wrong with wanting to get a little lit up?"

"Nothing if you're some tire salesman from Akron in town for a convention, but you, my friend, are no salesman. You have wandered out onto a very dangerous cliff. One tiny misstep, and splat." Urness clapped his hands together to emphasize the point.

"I am well aware of what I'm doing."

"I'm not so sure. If we're going to do this, I want you to keep your drinking under control."

"Hey," Adams said in an easy tone, "I'm not going to tell you that I don't like to drink, but I'm not driving. I'm just trying to blow off a little steam."

"Yes, you are, and as your friend I'm telling you to tone it down. This shit is serious. If you f*ck this up, Glen, and don't handle it perfectly, you could end up in jail or worse."

"Message received." Adams put up his hands, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Good, because I'm going to keep an eye on you. Now let's get you in your car. I need to get home and review a case before I go to bed."